Tears
by Pecore-Nere
Summary: Tell me, England... Why must I always be the one who made you cry..? -America-


Title : Tears

Pairing : US-UK

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or its characters.

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Prologue_

_Hey, England…_

_The man with sandy blond hair seemed like he had lost his hope. He was curling on the ground with his head buried in his arms, sobbing mournfully. Beside him, the other blond was still trying to persuade me to come to his side._

I was about to walk to the other blond, when I glanced to the sobbing blond and I saw his eyes. They were wide, tears overflowing from them. They were the shade of the brightest green; the exact same color of the grasslands I used to live in, like green grasses and lush new leaves that appeared in spring. Those brilliant eyes sucked all my attention, so I walked to the sobbing blond instead, and tugged on his sleeve.

"Hey, are you all right?"

_Tell me one thing…_

"Why, damnit?" England sobbed.

I looked to him; for the very first time, I was looking down on England. England, who always stood straight and proud, now collapsed in front of me. He covered his face with his hand in a desperate attempt to hold back his tears.

His effort was futile; I could see tears streaming from his eyes, just like years ago when I first met him. Yet, this time his eyes were clenched shut, refusing to look at me. Rain pelted both of us, washing over his tears with dirty rain water that poured from the dark sky. I sighed heavily and said,

"You used to be… So big…"

_Why are you always crying?_

* * *

London, 1940

"You're being ridiculous."

"You think?" The blond in front of me smirked. "So what if I am?"

I frowned and pushed Texas straighter on my nose. "Seriously, our boss had met hundreds of time, and our countries are on the same side now. Can't you be reasonable? You had never attended any of the Allied meetings!" I asked, a note of exasperation coloured my voice. _I can't believe I'm begging like this; what sort of hero am I?_

"That didn't necessarily put you and me on the same side, you moron. We're never on the same side, not since that day," He frowned, his unusually large eyebrows furrowing deeply.

"Aw, come on! You're seriously still thinking about that day?" I grumbled, although I immediately regretted my words. _Oops..._

I thought I saw a bead of tear swelled on the edge of his emerald eyes, and I knew immediately that I had said something wrong. England's cynic expression had turned into a distressed one,

"Belt up, America," he said with a husky voice. "Leave me alone."

Then, he closed the door, leaving me alone on the porch of his Victorian-style mansion in the outskirts of London. The spring breeze tickled my face, soothing my nerves and calmed me down. '_Great_,' I thought sourly.

'_After nearly two hundred years of isolation and not seeing each other, I had successfully ruined my first chance to meet him again. _Great _job, America_,' I cursed inwardly as I left the elegant residence.

_Why are you always crying_

_Every time we meet..?_

"You're expecting _me _to come?" England's harsh voice stabbed my eardrums, cynic and blunt without mercy. "Why?"

"Well, I figured that we're..." I started, my eyes observing the Briton's expression carefully. I had invited him to my birthday party a week from now, which I figured was _not _a very brilliant idea after all.

"Friends?" England finished my sentence as he raised one of his eyebrows.

"Uhh... Yeah..?" I grinned uncertainly, doubt started to break through my determination.

"We're not 'friends', America. Our relationship is merely there for its benefits," England snapped irritably. "I'm merely doing it for my people's good."

His words truly pierced me deep, like a rusty blunt knife. Realization dawned on me that his words are nothing but the truth. My feelings toward him were not mutual at all. Trying to sound unconcerned, I shrugged and said, "Well, it's okay. I don't give a damn anyway."

For a few seconds, I saw a look of hurt crossed England's face. But then, his expression turned unreadable, like a blank piece of paper. "Suit yourself, then. Now sod off, git," He said in a cold tone, although I could hear his voice had an edge on it.

In a fleeting – _terrifying _– moment, I thought that he'd cry again, because of my stupid words.

_Why must I always be the one_

_Who made you upset..?_

_Why must I be the one_

_Destined to make you cry..?_

"Bugger off, you smarmy git!" England's voice echoed through the large meeting room after France had landed him a particularly fascinating innuendo.

I chuckled lightly as I watched Germany trying to hold back England from pelting France into a bloody mess. England's expression was one of extreme fury; his bushy eyebrows furrowed into a spectacular frown as he flailed and tried to break away from Germany's firm grip. Really, I rarely saw England _that _upse-

Suddenly, a thought struck through me hard. England had _never _cried; not when France had insulted him so badly, or when India had slapped him clean across his face. Geez, he didn't even cry when Germany had wounded him so badly during the World War 2! England only cried when it was _me _that had done something wrong to him; it's so unfair.

I was terrified of England's tears, despite my swagger that nothing can scare me; except for ghost stories perhaps. The point is that it felt like nothing I do is right for him. Whatever I'm doing will always be wrong to him, although I've never intended it to be that way.

Although I had turned my back from him, disagreed with him in many ways, I had never even once wished for his suffering or his tears.

_Hey, England..._

_For just this once_

"England, I want you to listen carefully," I said, my tone serious.

His emerald eyes widened, irritation replaced by a slight curiosity. He tightened his grip on the briefcase he brought along to the meeting. I was glad that he'd listen to me just this once; Japan had helped me to plan all the details of my plan, and it'll be so disappointing if his efforts had gone wasted.

"What's wrong?" asked England curiously, noticing my slightly anxious look.

"England, I..." I stammered. "I... Love you."

_Can you please, please..._

_Smile for me..?_

England's expression was stunned for a moment, before an expression of extreme horror and discomfort crept on his feature. His emerald eyes were still wide, although they were now filled with fear instead of curiosity. Cold sweat started to trickle down his cheeks. _Oh my God, what had I done wrong this time..?_

"Uhh, England..? Did you hear me?" I asked him cautiously, preparing to do a Heimlich manoeuvre in case he choked out of excitement. I reached my hand tentatively to touch his shoulder.

To my surprise, he jerked away from my touch and said in a slightly hysterical tone, "I heard you! I heard you!!"

"Oh... Well, so..." I stepped back and pulled my hand, my cheeks blushing like mad. I cursed myself for my extreme stupidity.

"I... I'm sorry, but... It's impossible..." England whispered hoarsely. "I'm truly happy about your feelings, but..."

He didn't cry, but his expression now was far worse than when he was crying.

_Tell me why..._

_It is so hard for you_

_To simply smile_

"Why, England?" I cornered him the following night in the hotel we stayed in. He was about to go to the pub as usual when I spotted him. I chased him, and finally managed to get the Englishman cornered after running around for about five minutes. I pushed him against the wall and caged him with my arms. His expression was extremely distressed.

"Let me go, you git," He said weakly, his fingers trying with no avail to push my arms away.

"Listen to me!" I yelled with frustration. England silenced immediately and stopped trying to get away, although his emerald eyes were not looking at me at all. He continued to stare onto the floor below.

"You said you're happy! Then... Why is it impossible for us..?" I started, trying to get the blond to look at me. "Or... I guess you merely looked at me as your little brother after all..."

"Don't figure things on your own, you git! You know nothing about my feelings," England snapped. "I do love you, it's just that..."

I tensed at his words, waiting for the bitter truth to be revealed.

"When you left me that day, I had decided to not treat you as my 'special' anymore," England whispered, his eyes finally looked at me straight in the eyes. "I don't want to shed anymore tears for you, it's not worthy. You don't give a damn about other people, including me, so why should I waste my feelings on you..?"

"When you had confessed to me, I was seriously happy for a moment; until I remembered that day. Who knows that you won't do the same thing to me again? I'll break down and won't be able to recover again, all my effort all these time to ignore you will be wasted! Because of the fear and anxiety, I couldn't even stand properly," England continued slowly, sadness crept in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I've had enough, America. I don't want to suffer the same devastation anymore. I don't want to waste my tears on you anymore."

"Wha... How could you assume that it'll come to an end!?" I tried to reason desperately, grabbing his shoulders and shook him to make him see some sense.

"I couldn't help it, you git!" England nearly screamed; his expression frantic.

"Come on, England! Believe me, this time, for sure, we'll always be together..."

"THAT'S WHAT YOU HAD SAID BACK THEN AS WELL!!" England screamed, his cheeks flushed.

I flinched; his words pelted me like boulders, like a well-deserved slap on the face. All this time, I thought I'd make him smile again; what an arrogant thought that is. _I _was the one who had driven him away from me; that day, I had recklessly and uncaringly yanked away all the trust he had put on me.

Since the day we've met, although I had rebelled against you; even though I've aimed my gun at you; even though I had casted my hands away and turned my back from you... Never even once I've wished for your sadness or your tears. I've never intended to tear away all your trust on me because of my betrayal. Now I realized, that although it might seemed that you had forgiven me, I cannot be trusted by you anymore. I cannot make you believe that I truly loved you; that I'll never cast these hands away anymore.

A lump started to rise in my throat, and tears are threatening to overflow my eyes.

"Wha... America?" England gaped when he saw my tears, astonishment etched on his face.

I collided my body to his, encasing his body in a clumsy embrace. "You said you're happy!" I yelled desperately, my voice hoarse as sobs started to escape my throat. "You said you love me! So how could the ending be anything but a happy ending!? Why must it end this way!?"

"Ame... ricaaa... Can't... breath!" England gasped for air, his face paled alarmingly.

I pulled away slightly, my arms still wrapped around his body. Hot, fat droplets of tears were still streaming down my eyes, causing everything in my sight to gone all blurry. I can still see England quite clearly though; his eyes were clenched shut, just like when he collapsed in front of me that day. "Idiot... You're being sly..." He whispered hoarsely.

"You thought... I'd listen to anything you say if you cried..." He reached his arms to me and hugged me tentatively. He opened his eyes, clear emerald green ones stared onto my baby blue ones. There were tears welled on the edges of his eyes, threatening to overflow.

* * *

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I realized that day_

_That tears doesn't always means 'sadness'_

_That day you've showed me_

_That tears can actually meant so much_

_Tears are something you let out_

_When you're letting your heart wins_

_And ignore all the dignity you have_

_And just let loose_

_Y'know, I've always feared your tears_

_But that day, your tears meant a lot to me_

_And just that time, I was so happy_

_That I was the one who had caused it_

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**A/N: Argh! This damn fic is corny to the highest degree; I actually couldn't believe I had written this whole garbage. Got the idea after reading a doujin by Kaiten-Mokugyo in two am in the morning. You guys who had read the doujin might notice some lines I've stolen from it. And really, I'm so sorry for the oh-so-crappy poem. I'm never good at making them anyway. Oh well, go on, pelt me with your critics, I'm totally ready for it =="**


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